


House of Tolerance

by MyDearStalker



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Belts, Breathplay, Brothels, Dom/sub, Drug Use, Dubious Consent, F/F, F/M, Marriage, Oral Sex, Prostitution, Whipping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-29
Updated: 2015-01-29
Packaged: 2018-03-08 15:19:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3213950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyDearStalker/pseuds/MyDearStalker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the 1930s, Hannibal and Bedelia have settled into married life in Paris. Following the tragic death of Bedelia's last 'companion', they visit the city's most renowned and expensive brothel, Le Chabanais, to hire someone to occupy the doctor's time while her husband is away on one of his frequent trips.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The couple showed very little skin, which made them stand out in Le Chabanais. The man was tall, thin, and elaborately dressed in an embellished waistcoat. A sea green pocket square embellished his otherwise somber attire. He stood in front of the brothel's reception, leather gloves cracking as he eased his grip around the cane he carried. The woman, a great deal shorter but no less self possessed, was every part his compliment. Hair that was not so much blonde as it was absent of colour cascaded over one shoulder, and she wore the most expensive jaquard coat the madame had ever seen. Constructed of intertwining green, gold and silver thread, it made her almost seasick to look at it for long.

The couple were not local, that was plain. A Dane and and an American were an odd pairing, but much odder things had graced the halls of Le Chabanais. The man outlined his request with condensing charm, often reserved by the very rich for members of the underclass that held something they badly wanted. Madame Melasse did not mind. He was polite and professional, and that was becoming a rarity.

The wife was a surprise. For once, the madame truly did believe they were married. There was something about them, an old world sense of marriage for convenience. Mutual respect, rather than giddy lust lay between them.

'We are looking for a more permanent arrangement.'

The madame had demurred. That was not their business. The man had smirked, the woman's attention had wandered. She placed a hand on her husband's arm. 'Something less delicate, this time.' she directed, before leaving to take in the portraits on the walls. The madame sighed. She knew she would not bargain for long. Once one of the finest maisons in Paris, they were now a house in decline. Many of their girls would leap at the couple's offer. Nevertheless, she had some pride.

'We may have what you ask. Return in a month. These things take time.'

The man had agreed. As you wish. The madame only realised she had been holding her breath after they had swept from her parlour, leaving only their perfume behind.

* * *

 

A month to the day, Hannibal held the door open for Bedelia, who stepped through without hesitation. The couple approached the reception, at which a bejeweled girl lounged.

'Bonsoir, nous rechercons Madame Melasse.' Bedelia stated, but the girl had sprung forth from her seat before Bedelia had finished her sentence, disappearing behind a door. They were expected.

The madame appeared swiftly. In accented English, she brusquely commanded the girl to take their coats, revealing the couple's opulent taste in clothes. Bedelia was dressed entirely in dark purple silk, the folds of her dress clinging to the hills and valleys of her body. Hannibal's waistcoat was a compliment, and the madame watched with something like envy as he rolled his sleeves to the elbow, the tan muscles in his forearm flexing. She ushered the pair into an elevator, and followed behind.

'I will take you to the lounge. You may have your choice. The girls are aware of your request, and are willing.' The elevator came to a discreet stop, and the madame pulled open the door. She gestured outwards with one arm. 'Amusez-vous.'

Bedelia and Hannibal stepped out onto plush, deep red carpet. This was decadence at its french finest. The lounge was unlike the other maisons closes they had visited. Each wall seemed gilt with gold, an artwork in itself. Music played from some unseen source, and girls reclined in various states of undress over chaise lounges. Curtains draped around each corner, in case patrons required more privacy before they reached one of the themed rooms upstairs. They were not the only ones in the parlour. Two young men smoked in the corner, girls on their lap, drinks in hand. A redhead ran naked past them giggling, playfully trying to escape the attentions of a young man no older than twenty. But it was early, and many women merely played cards, or talked, awaiting something more diverting. Bedelia and Hannibal's arrival did not cause a stir, but the atmosphere changed undeniably at their entrance.

Hannibal lingered by the elevators. He placed a hand on Bedelia's arm. 'Well?'

Bedelia scanned the room, satisfied to see every face familiar to her. Vivie, bare chested, amazonian in stature, was easily bored and had a fondness for pranks. Hope, a wealth of golden hair piled on top of her head, mourned the absence of her older brother, recently enlisted into the army. And in the corner, that must be Cerise, as sweet in disposition as she was in name, but with a dangerous fondness for liquor. The madame had been true to her word, providing the photos of each of the girls on offer. And of course, the couple had done their own, more discreet, research.

But Bedelia wasn't sure what she was looking for, hadn't really come to a decision. What she wanted, she couldn't find with her eyes. Nevertheless, one had to start somewhere. She picked at the fingers of her gloves as she searched the room.

'A drink, Madame? Monsieur?'

A girl dressed in the style of ancient Greece approached them, gold bracelets tinkling into the crook of her arm as she wielded a tray laden with champagne. Hannibal refused, but Bedelia picked up a flute, replacing it with her gloves.

'What is your name, my dear?' she asked, her eyes trying to penetrate the long, flirty lashes the girl flickered in her direction.

'Helene. Is there anything I can do for you or your husband tonight, madame?' Helene purred.

Bedelia sipped. Helene. Shrewd, experienced, confident. She had made a life out of prostitution, and she enjoyed it.  'Perhaps you can offer us a recommendation.'

Helene considered the pair, her sharp gaze assessing. 'If I may be frank, madame....'

'Please.'

'Madame Melasse prepared us for your arrival. You are after a courtesan, like in the time of Louis the XV. Very romantic! Someone to amuse you while your husband attends to other business. There are many girls here who would be pleased to take up such an offer.'

'Not you?'

Helene laughed.'I would not dare refuse you.' she teased. 'But I like where I am, and I would miss my sisters. You can do better than me, madame.'

Bedelia doubted it, but took her point. Taking Helene out of Le Chabanais would be like taking an endangered butterfly out of the rainforest. She would wilt in a day. Helene stepped closer to whisper over her tray. 'May I suggest Violet? She is a quiet soul. She likes her own company. But she is....interesting. And you seem like a couple who would enjoy a challenge.' Helene winked, and moved away.

Bedelia looked over to where Helene had gestured. A girl sat with her back to them, her head tilted over something. A book, Bedelia presumed. She sat alone on the lounge, her brown hair cascading over the back of the furniture. Bedelia and Hannibal looked at each other. Violet was interesting. A history impenetrable before her emigration to France, inquiries into Violet had produced only a few facts. Brooding. Intelligent. A few dangerous flaws. Yes, perhaps. Why not. The couple glided toward her corner.

Before Violet could react, Hannibal slid into the empty space next to her, offering her a cigarette from a silver case. From behind, Bedelia swept her hand under Violet's hair, settling it over the girls left shoulder, bending over her right to offer her a light. Violet found herself surrounded. She took the offered cigarette.

'Merci.' she said, in poorly accented French. 

'You're American.' Hannibal stated. He sat tantalising close to her, the fabric of his trousers grazing her skin. Bedelia pulled the drapes around them, sealing them off from the rest of the lounge. 

Violet laughed, folding her book. 'Oui, monsieur. I am. Was it easy to tell?' 

'Your accent is terrible.' he lit his own cigarette, as she fastened hers into a holder. Bedelia laughed, seating herself on the girl's other side. 

'Don't be so critical, Hannibal.' Long, slender hands drew a tendril from Violet's hair. 'It's a hard language to master. And I'm sure the girl has other talents.'

Violet took a puff of her cigarette, blowing the smoke upwards. 'I know who you are.' she said, softly, gloating. 

'Oh?' Hannibal placed a hand on her inner thigh, stroking. 

'That couple, from the paper. The doctors. They found the girl in your apartment.'

'An awful accident.' tutted Bedelia, plucking the cigarette from Violet's grasp and putting it to her lips. 

Violet pouted. 'You know what I think?'

'What do you think?' Bedelia asked in a humouring tone. 

'I don't think it was an accident. I think it was murder.'

Hannibal threw his head back, laughing. He waved his hand. 'Stand up. Take off your clothes.' He turned to share a quick smile with his wife. 

Hannibal sat on the lounge with his legs apart, one arm resting on the back while the other dangled a cigarette. Bedelia sat perched on the edge in the opposite corner, skirts fanning around her. Violet rose slowly to stand in front of them, costume tinkling as she moved. She was dressed like a mockery of a middle eastern bellydancer, in wide trousers and heavy kohl. Her hands rose behind her neck to untie her sheer top.

'Perhaps not _intentionally_.' Violet looked Bedelia in the eye. 'But I think you have....unconventional tastes.' She let her top fall, revealing her naked torso. 

Bedelia held her gaze. 'Perhaps I do. Does that frighten you?'

Violet reached to the ceiling, stretching, showing off her chest. 'There are rumours. Not much gets passed us. Some of us knew Ingrid. We were happy that she had fallen on her feet. A rich, foreign couple. A nice apartment. Nothing to do all day but eat candy and lie about.' She leisurely undid the ties that held her trousers. 'We knew who she was. We asked aroundd. We hear things. Things the police might want to know.' Violet let the purple and gold nylon fall to her feet. Disrobed, she showed flawless skin and a round figure, bedecked with ornaments.  Gold bracelets covered almost all the skin on her forearms, anklets dangled to her feet, and a blue stone shone in her navel.

'I think the whore wants to blackmail us.' Hannibal said mildly. Violet noticed for the first time how little he blinked. 

Bedelia gave a rarely heard, soft chuckle. 'Yes, it seems that way. Come here, ma cherie.' Bedelia beckoned. 

Violet sat once again cautiously between them. Hannibal encompassed her with a toned arm, encouraging her to lean back with her head in his lap as he ashed his cigarette. Bedelia scooped up Violet's legs and placed them on the long lounge. The pair hovered like bookends above her. Hannibal lent a surprisingly firm hand on her shoulder. He smelt like woodsmoke and bleach. 

'What is it you want?' Bedelia asked, running a hand down the inside of her thigh. 

'I will work for you.' Violet swallowed. Hannibal ran a fingernail down her throat. 'But I want money. Much more money than Ingrid got. I want my own apartment. And clothes. And anything else I think of. Or I will go the papers. And the police.' 

'So specific.' Bedelia teased. She leaned over and brushed Violet's hair back. Bedelia's lips met the girl's firmly, unforgiving. Her tongue was violating, searching, relentless. The woman's hand tugged firmly on Violet's hair, holding her head to Hannibal's lap. When Bedelia pulled back, Violet was breathless. 

'I don't think my wife finds your terms acceptable.' said Hannibal, tonelessly. 

'You don't mind, do you dear?'

Hannibal laughed. 'It's your night. And it seems our decision has been made for us.'

'She certainly seems tough enough.' 

Violet, frustrated, struggled to rise from the man's lap. Hannibal stopped her easily with a push. Violet, sensing her plan had gone awry, tried to cry out. Hannibal smothered her mouth with his hand. 'Enough.' he silenced. 

Bedelia picked up one of Violet's wrists, and turned it upwards. She ran a fingernail along the soft skin inside. It was decorated with tiny pinpricks. 'You have a habit. I wonder what Melasse would think of that. I thought this was a reputable establishment.' 

Hannibal felt Violet's struggles cease under his hand. 

'I wonder what your mother would say, all the way back in Maine.' It had been hard to find, but Bedelia knew how to navigate the bureaucracy of her home country. 'I wonder what the police would say about your extra income. Prostitution is one thing, Violet.' Bedelia dropped her wrist. 'Drugs are quite another. To be wanted in two countries.' Bedelia leaned back. 'That is quite the achievement.' 

Violet lay still. 

'Now, why don't you be a good girl and show us to your room.' said Hannibal. 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Violet, dressed, parted the drapes and led the couple upstairs. Bedelia and Hannibal walked close behind her, almost protectively. The lounge was beginning to fill, and no  one noticed their exit. Violet guided them into a corridor bordered by red nondescript doors. Silently, she stopped in front of one, opened it and walked inside. 

'Can I offer you a drink?' she asked, neutrally. 

The room was decorated as richly as the lounge. Violet stood by a dark wood bar, curling the red carpet under her toes. The walls were painted like a Victorian tapestry, depicting devils and men in salacious positions. In the centre of the room lay a mattress, almost invisible under the weight of thick round cushions. Sheer pink cotton tented over the bed. Bedelia locked the door behind her. 

' _That_ is not customary, here.' Violet protested, and was ignored. She sighed. 'Alright. What is this, then?'

Hannibal turned to adjust his tie in the nearby mirror. 'It is simple. I travel. My wife gets lonely. She needs someone to entertain her.'

Violet poured herself some whisky, and drank it in a gulp. 'This isn't simple.' she said, sardonically. 

Bedelia moved toward her. 'Don't question me, do what I tell you, keep me happy. And it will be.'

Violet, agitated, opened a draw under the bar and retrieved a needle and cord. Lightning fast, Bedelia snatched her wrist and twisted it. The kit dropped to the floor. 'No. Not now. Maybe later.'

Violet struggled to shake her off, but years of restraining violent patients had made Bedelia strong. She twisted Violet's arm and threw her back into Hannibal, who held her by the shoulders. He spoke softly in her ear. 'Do your job. It will be easier on you.'

Violet took a deep breath. She tried to relax.

'Help me with this.'  Bedelia gestured to her dress. Violet approached her. Quickly, she worked her fingers on the buttons at the front, and eased the garment off Bedelia's shoulders. She bent forward and nuzzled her neck. Bedelia tossed her head back. Violet knelt down, taking the dress with her. She felt Bedelia's fingers entwine themselves in her hair. Nimbly, she snapped off the stocking's suspenders, and rolled Bedelia's underwear to the floor. Bedelia pushed the girl's head forward, and Violet grabbed the woman's hips to hold herself steady. The tip of her tongue flicked out, barely touching the woman's clit, teasing her. Bedelia's back arched, a small smile lighting her face. Violet could hear her breath increase. 

Bedelia was gorgeous. This wasn't unpleasant work. It was the underlying threat that made Violet uneasy. She both wanted this to be over with, and was afraid of what would come once her job was done. She pushed harder into her patron, sucking, trying to overwhelm her. Suddenly, Violet felt a presence behind her as Hannibal approached. His hand pressed on the back of her head, holding her in place, as he bent to kiss his wife. Violet began to feel more at home. Couples weren't unheard of in Le Chabanais. Sex was a wonderful equalizer.

Violet moved her hand down Bedelia's thigh. Her fingers massaged the doctor as her tongue worked. Delving deep within her, she moved her fingers in rhythm with her mouth. Bedelia began to move her hips. Hannibal stood behind Violet, trapping her on the floor between him and his wife. His teeth grazed Bedelia's neck as the woman moaned. With what seemed like effort, her hand reached up to push gently on his chest. He stepped away. 

'Enough.' gasped Bedelia. Violet pulled back. The change in the woman was sudden. Grabbing Violet by the hair, she threw her in the direction of the bed. _You could ask_ , thought Violet darkly. She crawled the short distance, and Bedelia followed close behind. 

'Kneel on the bed.' she commanded. 

Violet's stomach was beginning to turn, and she thought desperately of the needle that was tucked safely back in its draw. As she positioned herself on all fours on the mattress, she noticed a slight tremor in her arms. She bowed her head to hide her want, unsuccessfully. Bedelia's hand reached out to cup her breast, massaging. 'Is there something you want, Violet?'

Violet tried an easy laugh. 'Only you.'

Bedelia smiled. Violet heard the unmistakable sound of a belt unsheathed. But to her surprise, instead of Hannibal's hands on her hips, Violet watched him pass the strip of expensive leather to Bedelia. 

Bedelia stood. When she spoke, it was to the point. 'Twenty lashes. Then, you may have what you need. Only then.'

Violet protested. 'This is not what I do....' She was cut off when the first strike landed flush across her back, a stripe of white hot pain. Bedelia did not hold back. She intended to mark her. 

It was Hannibal who spoke. 'You will do more than this. You will do whatever she asks.' His tone was not threatening as much as it was one of utter certainty. Another blow landed on her back, and she cried aloud. She would swear it was hard enough to split the skin. 

'Please.' she begged.

'Would you like me to stop?' taunted Bedelia. 'Or would you like the needle? Which need is greater?' Another strike across her back, burning. Violet felt ill. Her hands clawed into the bedding.

Another strike. She flinched as she felt the unmistakable roughness of male fingers push inside her. Hannibal moved in and out slowly, spreading her. Violet's body responded of its own accord, and she pushed backwards, into him. Another vicious strike landed on her back, and her body tightened. Hannibal massaged the spot inside her, and Violet was torn between the two excruciating sensations. She buried her head in the cushions. The torture overwhelmed her, and she let the couple toy with her body, no longer able to restrain her pleas. Hannibal teased her without mercy. As his hand brought her closer and closer to climax, the shock of the belt would tear her away. When she thought she would shatter with need for relief, the couple stopped. Violet realised she was sobbing, head in the cushions, her legs apart, exposed to the air. She tried to catch her breath.

Bedelia had retrieved the kit from the draw. Violet sat up and reached for it desperately, but Bedelia swatted her hand away. Grabbing her by the wrist, she tied the tourniquet around the girl's arm and found a vein with precision. She injected Violet with the casual manner born of long practice.  

Violet fell back into the cushions, warmth spreading through her, clouds in her mind parting. The pain from the belt eased. Bedelia spoke above her, far away. 

'We'll have to do something about this.'

'No, it will be useful.'

Bedelia sighed. 'I'm sure you're right.'

Violet opened her eyes. Hannibal was sitting in the armchair by the bed. Bedelia was buttoning her dress. 

'May I?' Hannibal directed the question to Bedelia. She smiled.

'Of course.'

Violet felt a tug at her neck. She realised with surprise that the belt circled it like a leash, and Hannibal had hold of the end. She felt disoriented. When had that happened? She followed the pressure meekly until she rested on the floor between his legs.  Hannibal held the makeshift leash tightly, forcing her head into his lap. She unzipped his fly, and devoured him hungrily, moving her head passionately up and down his length. Her hands spread on his thighs, balancing her. Hannibal was cold. Still.

She felt Bedelia take her wrist and press her hand between her legs once again. Violet struggled to obey, to keep up with the couples competing demands. She stroked obediently, trying her best to please. 

Hannibal tightened the belt around her neck. The increased pressure broke her concentration, and she tried to lift her head to breathe, only to have Hannibal force her back down. Somewhere in the distance, she felt Bedelia's thrusts grow as Violet's hand worked automatically. Violet began to panic as she grew more and more desperate for breath. She thought of the way they found Ingrid --  _Ligature marks_. _Blue. --_ and struggled, only to feel the leather dig into her neck. Bedelia grabbed at her hand, pressed it violently inside her, her hips moving in barely perceivable circles. Violet felt her tremor around her fingers, heard her sharp inhalation. She did not dare stop the  movements of her mouth, moving her tongue desperately around her captor as he held unflinching onto her leash. After holding Violet's hand almost painfully tight against her, Bedelia threw it callously away, sighing. Hannibal yanked violently at the belt, pulling Violet free. Her vision had begun to close. Dexterously, he inserted a finger under the belt, loosening it from Violet's neck. She gasped, falling backward.

Hannibal stood. He bent down and retrieved the belt from Violet, replacing it around his waist. Bedelia had already settled back into perfection. She smoothed her hair gently. 

Violet massaged her neck. Bedelia bent down to kiss her forehead. 

'Thank you, my darling. I look forward to getting to know you a little better.'

Hannibal looked at his wife in the mirror. 'I will send a car for her tomorrow.'

Bedelia nodded. Violet watched the couple retreat through the door, a polite distance between them. She sat on the carpet, catching her breath, listening to their footsteps recede down the hall.

Violet took a deep breath. Gathering her composure, she grabbed her robe, and pulled a suitcase out from the closet. 

It was time to pack her bags. 

 

 

 

 


End file.
